Karen Gillan and Arthur Darvill are squealing like happy toddlers, eagerly rummaging through big carrier bags of CDs on the floor of the Guardian Guide’s office. “Hey, The Hit World Of Marthas And Arthurs!” says Arthur, waving a sleeve.
“Definitely have that one,” laughs Karen. They both chew gum as they pore over piles of discs, Arthur next picking out a Richard Hawley single. “Who is Richard Hawley?” Karen asks, blowing at her new fringe. Arthur gawps incredulously. When I mention that these CDs are going spare, the noise levels go through the roof. With their time as Amy and Rory coming to an end, the soon-to-be-ex Doctor’s assistants have been this hyper since they arrived. They burst into our photographer’s studio half-an-hour late, emitting a first-coffee-of-the-morning buzz. She is all eyes wide and long limbs crossing and un-crossing. He is polite, low-key and more guarded, with occasional bursts of noise. It’s impossible not to stare at Karen. She is taller than Big Ben. She dabs on extra powder before the shoot and Arthur joins her at the mirror to give his quiff a final waxing. She nobly ditches her platform brogues to even out the height difference between them. As the shoot goes on, his velvet jacket gets gradually covered in the fuzz from her fluffy jumper. She, meanwhile, is the kind of woman who can wear mohair with a leather skirt and opaque tights on a thick summer’s day and not sweat at all. As soon as the photographer starts clicking, the pair swing into action. Arthur tells Karen he just did a photoshoot for a prominent gay magazine and ended up wearing a skirt. “I can’t wait to see the photos!” Karen yelps, clapping her hands.
We swear that these are the first two paragraphs from the Guardian interview and not from a Karen x Arthur fanfic.